


Easy Virtue

by alykapedia



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sylvix Week (Fire Emblem)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:42:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26592349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alykapedia/pseuds/alykapedia
Summary: What Sylvain had failed to tell the Duke during that fateful carriage ride all those days ago, was that there was a very good reason as to why he has not stepped foot in Fraldarius lands, let alone the Fraldarius homestead, in nearly two years, and that reason was glaring up at him now, a rabbit slung over one shoulder and a bow on the other.Felix stands before him, as harsh and as beautiful as the Faerghus winters, dressed in a billowy shirt and a pair of scandalously tight breeches, dark hair piled into a loose bun on top of his head.“Hello, Felix.”
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 40
Kudos: 87
Collections: Sylvix Week 2020 Fic Collection





	1. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Aegis he would die of agonizing heartbreak—Sylvain personally thinks the spear would be preferable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #sylvixweek2020 day 2: pining
> 
> what better way to depict (mutual) pining than a regency au? i've been sitting on this for a while now because i meant to drop it as one big oneshot, but i am now releasing it to the wild in a chaptered form because i write very slowly and maybe this way, i'd be bullied into writing faster. the next few parts are already...written out and planned so!! yeah!! 
> 
> not as regency-picked as i would like, but *handwaves* but here we are!!
> 
> edit: [PLS LOOK AT THIS GORGEOUS COVER BY THE AMAZING LOIS](https://twitter.com/lv2nt/status/1308266820126769153?s=20)

Shame is an emotion Sylvain has not felt, or at the very least, convinced himself quite thoroughly, that he hasn’t felt, in what seems to be years. He’d danced along to the ton’s cries of _dandy_ and _philanderer_ , crafted a perfect persona built from easy smiles and easier lies so that not a lick of sincerity saw the light of day, and fashioned himself into a caricature of a person—all glimmer and no substance, a pretty, hollow shell—for so long now that he’d forgotten what shame felt like. What is shame, after all, to someone like Sylvain Jose Gautier, who has all but abandoned propriety and embraced the notoriety Fhirdiad’s beau monde had so lovingly draped upon his shoulders?

Yet he feels sick with it now, guilt rancid on his tongue, coating the roof of his mouth, and trickling thickly down his throat as the carriage door opens to admit the Duke Fraldarius. Suddenly, it’s as if he’s been transported back in time to when he was nine and had convinced Felix to climb up on one of the ramparts—an endeavor that ended with Felix breaking his arm and enough tears to flood the Airmid River from both him and Felix--and much like before, Sylvain can only sit and wait for the dressing down he is sure to receive.

But the Duke only settles down across from him and lets out a soft sigh, a wry smile settling upon his countenance, reminding Sylvain that back then, Lord Rodrigue had merely picked up a crying Felix, cast a healing spell over his arm, and asked them both in calm tones to call upon Glenn, or one of the servants, should they wish to play by the ramparts again. The man had said not a single unkind word, nor had he raised a finger against Sylvain back then, and it seems the same is true now.

For not the first time and certainly not the last, Sylvain finds himself wishing he had the Duke for a father instead.

“Well,” Lord Rodrigue begins once their carriage starts to move, traversing the familiar streets leading back to the Fraldarius townhouse, leaving the foreboding fortress that is the Capital’s courthouse behind. “You’ll be glad to know that they won’t be pursuing the charges levied against you.”

The shame returns with a vengeance, curdling like soured milk in the pit of his stomach, turning into sludge so that it weighs him down until he’s doubled over, face in his hands. “I apologize for dragging you into this.” He had not wanted to call on the Duke for his latest indiscretion, but Sylvain had been at the end of his rope, and resourceful though she may be, there was only so much that Ingrid could have done on her own without involving Dimitri.

Loathe he may be to involve the Duke but Sylvain would rather it be him, than the _Crown Prince_.

“No need for that, I was glad to help,” Lord Rodrigue is saying, his words punctuated by a gentle hand patting his shoulders. “And had I done nothing, our—ah—” Here, the Duke pauses, an expression of such _fatherly_ _fondness_ settling upon his mien that there is no doubt in Sylvain’s mind as to who Lord Rodrigue could possibly be referring to when he continues, “ _Mutual acquaintance_ never would have forgiven me, so I’m afraid this was not a wholly selfless endeavor.”

Considering who their so-called _mutual acquaintance_ is, Sylvain is rather confident in his estimation that _he_ would not have cared a single whit, and Sylvain would not be able to blame _him_ for it, not after what he'd done. He does not, of course, say anything in response, content to let the Duke talk.

And talk he does, finally touching upon a topic that has trepidation sinking its claws into the pathetic remains of Sylvain’s heart. “I must inform you that the Margrave has sent word and asked that I send you off to the frontlines out in Sreng, so that you may ruminate upon the severity and foolishness of your actions."

Trust the Margrave to mete out the punishment Sylvain dreaded most. For years, Sylvain has managed to obviate all of the Margrave’s attempts to send him off to Sreng, citing all manner of excuses, and long has he consoled himself with the knowledge that no matter what he does, he would always be able to avoid being sent off to the frontlines of Sreng to die, but it seems that Sylvain's luck had finally run out.

“However,” the Duke says, putting a halt to the hasty descent Sylvain’s thoughts have taken at the mention of the Margrave’s chosen retribution. “I disagreed." The words are said airily, as if they are of little import, and Sylvain cannot help but boggle openly at that, because experience has taught him that the Margrave is not a man one argues with, let alone disagree with. Of course, he supposes that the Duke holds much more sway, not to mention influence and power than Sylvain can ever hope to have. “I suggested instead that you go to Aegis for the season.” 

“Aegis,” Sylvain echoes dumbly, once he’s gathered back his wits about him, enough to keep mum about why sending him to the Fraldarius homestead would be akin to sending him to Sreng. At least up in the frozen grasslands of Sreng, Sylvain would merely die of a spear through the throat, in Aegis he would die of agonizing heartbreak—Sylvain personally thinks the spear would be preferable.

"A trip to the seaside might do you some good. Clear your head a bit,” Duke Fraldarius says, ignorant of the maelstrom of emotions he’d unknowingly unleashed within Sylvain. “You haven’t been there for quite some time now, have you?”

Sylvain shakes his head, puppet-like, carefully not meeting the Duke’s eyes, which are thankfully a different color than those that have haunted his thoughts in the, “almost two years,” he has not set foot in Fraldarius lands. Almost two years since Sylvain had done the unthinkable and destroyed the single most precious thing in his sorry excuse of a life, almost two years since he’d run away and never looked back like the coward he was, and still is.

“Well,” the Duke starts to say after a short beat of silence as their carriage rounds a particularly sharp corner. “Should you choose to go, I’d like for you to deliver some letters for me.”

“How many letters are we talking about?” Sylvain asks, almost by rote, even though he already knows the answer; the smile that the Duke hides behind his hand is a very obvious tell after all.

Reaching into his coat, the Duke proffers two heavy envelopes, and Sylvian scarcely has to glance at them to know who they’re addressed to. “Two,” Lord Rodrigue says rather redundantly, before nodding towards a package by Sylvain’s boots. “And a saber.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls help water my crops by leaving a comment :')


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner, when it arrives, is, of course, nothing short of an unmitigated disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hello have some more regency ridiculousness, featuring MORE fraldariuses, a couple of fraldarius servants being very unimpressed, and sylvain being himself
> 
> did a quick read through. do find it in your hearts to forgive any errors.

What Sylvain had failed to tell the Duke during that fateful carriage ride all those days ago, was that there was a very good reason as to why he has not stepped foot in Fraldarius lands, let alone the Fraldarius homestead, in nearly two years, and that reason was glaring up at him now, a rabbit slung over one shoulder and a bow on the other. Felix stands before him, as harsh and as beautiful as the Faerghus winters, dressed in a billowy shirt and a pair of scandalously tight breeches, dark hair piled into a loose bun on top of his head. He stands there a vision, and Sylvain cannot believe that he’d been fool enough to ever think that with enough time and distance, the depth of his regard for Felix would diminish, when it is all he can do to stay upright on his mare at the sight of him, hands holding on to the pommel for dear life.

“Hello, Felix,” he breathes out, carefully thinks not about the time he'd taken a war hammer to their friendship and cracked it right in the middle, and fails as his eyes trace along the curve of Felix's plush bottom lip, making him remember that fateful night back in Wyvern Moon nearly two years ago when he'd lost his mind in a bottle of port and kissed his best and most beloved friend.

Sylvain remembers too the betrayal that had colored Felix’s mien, amber eyes shuttering off as Felix fell into a horrified silence in the wake of the kiss, how coldly he’d looked upon Sylvain come morning that Sylvain had no other recourse but to cut his visit short and saddle up his mare. He’d ridden nonstop towards the Ruin and stayed there for several moons—the only time he’d ever relished being inside its foreboding halls—until he’d eventually tired of the Margrave’s daily castigations and urgings for him to find a wife, at which point Sylvain had once again saddled up his mare and this time, ridden west, as far away from Fraldarius as possible.

And now here he was yet again, back to the only place that had ever felt like home, looking upon the only person in the entire world that he could be prevailed upon to marry.

“Funny, I didn’t think you remembered where Fraldarius was,” Felix greets, tone as frigid as his gaze, and  _ oh, _ Sylvain had so missed his cutting repartee. He’d missed a great many number of things about Felix—his dry wit, the way his eyes shone under the candlelight, the kiss tucked in the corner of his mouth that only appeared when he smiled, and the way he looked at Sylvain, as if he was someone worthwhile, as if he was more than his family name and the fortune he was to inherit, as if he’d seen to the very heart of him and liked whatever it is he found there—but most of all he’d missed Felix’s presence and the easy way he’d existed by Sylvain’s side. Of course, all of these things were now lost to him because Sylvain had dared to want the one person he can’t have.

Before Sylvain can do much more than take another shuddering breath as the heartache begins to set in, Felix is already turning away without so much as another glance at him, walking towards the back of the house where the kitchens were, leaving Sylvain to comport himself in peace as he finds his footing on the uneven ground. He has half a mind to follow after Felix, but someone’s bustling out of the main entrance and heading determinedly towards him, and Sylvain quickly abandons that plan; he very much doubts that Felix would appreciate being hounded by him after all.

Felix probably wants nothing to do with him after what he’d done. 

“Mr. Gautier?” The servant—a new one, Sylvain thinks, when he fails to put a name to a decidedly unfamiliar face—calls, bright green eyes taking in his travel-worn appearance with bemusement. “Begging your pardon, sir,” he continues, and the young man is definitely new, because no one in Aegis has ever referred to Sylvain as  _ sir _ in all his twenty-five years—a product of having been the greatest terror to the entire household in his youth. “But the Captain is waiting for you at the Lilac Room, if you would follow me—”

“He knows where to go, Ashe!” A new voice rings out, and this one Sylvain knows very well, as he’d spent most of his childhood getting told off by its owner for dragging Felix into some mess or other. “Go help the young master with his rabbit,” Mrs. Umber—or Gertie, as Felix calls her—says, motioning a hand to where Felix had gone, before adding as she shoos  _ Ashe _ away, “And make sure he cleans up before supper.” 

Unable to keep his laughter at bay any longer, Sylvain readily succumbs to it, letting out a barking laugh as he steps over the threshold, the reins of his mare handed off to one of the grooms. “Gertie, did you miss me?” He asks, greeting the old Fraldarius housekeeper with a smile.

“Not at all,” Gertie replies succinctly, which of course means that she did, as evidenced by the way she rolls her eyes good-naturedly when he doffs his top hat at her, before taking it off and handing it to a nearby valet. “Not when you’ve had the little lord in such a snit for the longest time now by not visiting for nearly two years.” Her words bring him up short, for Sylvain had been of the opinion that his presence had been unwanted in Aegis, especially after what he’d done, but Mrs. Umber  _ knows _ Felix—for she’d practically raised him as her own after the Duchess’ death when Felix was only eight summers old—and would have no reason to lie or soften a blow, besides, which means— _ well _ —Sylvain knows not what it means, only that he will have much to think about before supper.

“He’s going to be furious when he hears you calling him little,” Sylvain manages after a rather long pause, a measly attempt at prevarication that falls horribly flat and convinces absolutely no one.

Thankfully, Gertie only shakes her head even as she gives him a knowing look, and says, “It is good to see you back here in Aegis, Mr. Gautier,” as if Aegis was Sylvain’s home too, and she was welcoming him back into its loving arms.

“It’s good to be back, Mrs. Umber,” he says and wishes, more than anything, that Aegis  _ was _ his home.

With a parting nod, Sylvain sets along the familiar corridor leading to the Lilac Room. It had been the late Duchess’s solar, and after her death, it had turned into the drawing room that the family now used to receive close friends, and Sylvain, prior to his exodus from Fraldarius, had spent many a summer day at the Lilac Room listening to Felix play the pianoforte, its wide windows opened to the gardens beyond, and so he easily makes his way there, muscle memory guiding him through the twists and turns, until he’s standing in front of the doorway.

The double doors have been thrown open, in preparation for his arrival perhaps, and when Sylvain peeks inside, he finds Glenn standing in front of the wide bay windows. It’s a sight that has Sylvain’s spirits lifting; the last time he’d seen the older Fraldarius sibling, Glenn had been fresh off his brush with death and had been confined to a bed, the entire right half of him a burnt and bloodied mess. To see him well enough to stand feels nothing short of a miracle, and despite the ache in his heart, Sylvain finds himself smiling as he walks inside.

“Captain Fraldarius,” he calls out just as Glenn is turning around, and Sylvain is quickly treated to a scowl and the sight of Glenn holding up a cane threateningly.

“Call me that one more time and I shall have you chased out of the estate,” Glenn says in greeting, the threat familiar and baseless. Sylvain can scarcely count on both hands just how many times Glenn has threatened to throw him out of the house whenever Glenn’s patience ran thin, only for Felix to quickly counter with a huffy  _ Sylvain’s my guest _ , although Sylvain very much doubts that Felix would be speaking up for him  _ now _ . He might even be the one to chase Sylvain out of Fraldarius when it comes down to it. “Sit, and help yourself to tea,” Glenn instructs, sitting down on the armchair and nodding towards the chaise lounge, in front of which is arrayed an impressive collection of all of Sylvain’s favorites. 

Even the tea, when Sylvain has availed himself of it, is catered to him, and he makes a point to ask Mrs. Umber to extend his gratitude to the kitchen staff for their efforts later. 

“How was your trip back here?” Glenn asks, after Sylvain has downed his first cup and is currently in the process of sampling the various cakes and pastries he’d piled on his plate. Barely an hour in Aegis and all of Sylvain’s manners have disappeared, as if a part of him knows that he’ll not be judged within its halls.

Pouring himself another cup of tea, Sylvain recalls his journey and replies with, “uneventful.” The Duke had loaned him his carriage, and while Sylvain could have easily spent the entire trip inside it, once they reached Galatea, he’d opted to ride the rest of the way to Fraldarius, leaving the coachmen to ferry the rest of his things, as well as Felix’s new saber, to Aegis. It had taken him another half a day of travel, having taken a different, much more scenic route, but Sylvain had enjoyed the opportunity to breathe in the fresh air and brace himself to see Felix once more, not that it helped him one bit. “How are you?”

“You may ask that of me only once,” Glenn warns in the tone of someone who has been asked how he is far too many times already, and Sylvain has to bite down on a smile lest he get a cane to the shin. “But as you can see, I’m mostly recovered now,” he continues to say, waving a hand at his cheek where the skin has healed, leaving only a faint scarring, before rolling up his right sleeve to show a mass of scar tissue covering his forearm; nothing like the gore Sylvain remembers seeing back then. “The burns aren’t as terrible as they used to be too. I’ve stopped scaring Liddy down at the kitchens at the very least.”

“That’s great.” It’s an understatement to be sure, especially when they’d thought Glenn to be lost forever after the skirmish that had wiped out half his battalion, but it’s all Sylvain can manage as he remembers how Felix had shaken and cried for days, before Captain Goneril had brought Glenn back to them.

With a quirk of his lips, Glenn makes a show of rolling his eyes. “Yes, well, I had the most persistent nurse in all of Fodlan haunting my bedside these past two years,” he says, bringing about the most delightful image of Felix playing nurse for his brother that Sylvain quickly tucks away in a corner of his heart. “And had I not gotten any better, he’d have taken it as a personal affront.” The words, ridiculous though they may be, ring true, for Sylvain knows exactly how unreasonable Felix can be once he’s taken responsibility over something. 

“How’s the tea, by the way?” Glenn asks, a sudden and very obvious change in topic that has Sylvain blinking in confusion and the tiniest, infinitesimal hint of suspicion, for Glenn is not the type of person to ask about such things, and the fact that he’s asking about it now, means there is something else at play.

“It’s perfect.”

“Good,” Glenn says with a nod, before he proves Sylvain’s suspicions right as he continues, “Felix has been a downright terror regarding the preparations for your arrival. Ever since Father informed us of your visit, I have not known peace with how excited he is.” 

The words are a blow, and no matter how he parses through their meaning, Sylvain cannot seem to reconcile it with what he knows, or at least,  _ thinks  _ he knows about the entire situation; even Mrs. Umber’s earlier comments only serve to confuse him, until he’s looking up at Glenn and saying in a hush, “I thought he did not want me here.” Except it seems that Felix  _ does _ , what with preparing all of Sylvain’s favorites for afternoon tea and acting as if Sylvain had  _ spurned him by keeping away and never visiting for almost two years _ , which probably  _ had _ been the case. 

He’d used to pride himself in knowing just exactly what was going on in Felix’s mind at any given moment, but now Sylvain feels as if he is lost at sea, entirely clueless and blind-sided, and he can only stare in horror as Glenn’s expression sours and turns chagrined in a matter of seconds. “Sylvain, he has been absolutely miserable without you,” he says and this is, perhaps, the worst thing Glenn has ever said to Sylvain, and if all the strength hasn’t left him at this moment, Sylvain would offer to escort himself out of Fraldarius for causing Felix such grief. “I don’t know what exactly happened between you and my brother. but I do hope that you take this opportunity to smooth things over.” 

“I will endeavor to try my best,” Sylvain promises, sincerity coloring his tone, “But he seems determined to avoid me."

Glenn dismisses his concerns with an imperious wave of a hand, wearing a smile that Sylvain remembers seeing often enough when he was a child, often heralding the distant sound of Felix kicking and screaming about not wanting to do something or other. "He'll be there at dinner,” Glenn promises, self-assured in a manner Sylvain finds himself envying. “I'll make certain of it."

+

Dinner, when it arrives, is, of course, nothing short of an unmitigated disaster. 

Sylvain cannot even properly recall what exactly it is he’d said--a thoughtless, passing comment about Miss Goneril visiting Aegis, but it had been enough to incite Felix's ire, and he can only sit and stare in horror as Felix remarks, caustic and truculent, “yes, Miss Goneril, who comes all the way from Freikugel has been a frequent visitor, because unlike some people, she has not forgotten that the Aegis and its inhabitants exist,” before he pushes himself up from his seat and abandons his meal in a clatter of silverware and china.

It’s nothing Sylvain has not borne witness to before—Felix had been terribly dramatic as a child, to say the least, and perhaps even more so as a young man—but never had he been the cause of such an outburst. No, Sylvain has always been the one that offered a shoulder to cry on, listening patiently as Felix hissed and complained about the Duke, the Captain, and their friends. Sylvain knows not how everyone can stand being at the receiving end of Felix’s ire, which is nothing like the playful exasperation he has long taken as his due, when he’s rendered mute and weak at the face of it.

"I am so incredibly sorry,” he murmurs into the silence blanketing the dining room, heat kissing his cheeks as he looks up to see Glenn, Gertie, and the maids pausing whatever it is they were doing to stare at him in complete and utter bemusement, as if they do not know why exactly he is apologizing, as if Sylvain is not at fault for upsetting Felix and causing his outburst.

“Sylvain, really,” Glenn begins with a roll of his eyes, cutting into his meal as if nothing of consequence has happened, and perhaps for Glenn, nothing had, but the same cannot be said for Sylvain, and so he listens with a heavy heart as Glenn carries on with his speech. “There is no need to apologize to  _ me _ for my brother and his manners, or lack thereof, when I had quite a hand in raising him.” 

Still, the words do nothing to settle the roiling guilt in Sylvain’s stomach, and he pushes away from the table with an apologetic nod at a nearby maid and a sheepish one at Glenn. “I should—” he trails off, uncertain as to how to continue as his eyes catch upon the still-open door leading out into the main hall where Felix had disappeared to.

Glenn lets out a chuff of laughter, before saying, almost indolently, as if they were providing him his evening entertainment and he was enjoying seeing them trip over themselves, “Go on. I’m sure you know where my darling brother has run off to.”

+

As unbelievable as it sounds, Felix truly does not mean to lose his temper at dinner. 

He had promised Glenn that he would behave and hold his tongue, listen to Sylvain’s explanations—if there were any—regarding his long absence and the slew of unanswered letters, and reconcile with his erstwhile friend, but it had simply been too much.  _ Two years _ , Felix thinks, fingers furious over the keys in a manner that would have his knuckles smarting from the rod if his Mama or any of his former governesses could see him now, two years Sylvain had acted like a complete stranger to him—ignoring all his letters and avoiding Aegis when he’d practically been living there for the longest time—and Felix is being expected,  _ nay _ , forced to bear the offense graciously as if the entire situation has not cut him to the very quick, leaving him festering with an abandonment so severe that he still flinches at its sting.

With all that in his consideration, keeping his temper at bay may have been an impossible endeavor from the very beginning.

Releasing a blustery breath, Felix manages two more measures of the old Adrestian waltz that really shouldn’t be played with the vehemence he’s affording it before he switches to the fast-paced Almyran jig Miss Goneril had played the last time she’d visited. The quick and overly complicated tune takes all of his attention that he nearly misses the arrival of an interloper, if not for the creaking of the floorboards by the chaise lounge. If Sylvain hadn’t decided to not visit for two years then maybe he would have remembered that that particular floorboard creaked, Felix thinks uncharitably, keeping his gaze down on the keys even as he sees Sylvain standing beside the pianoforte from the corner of his eye.

“Your skill at the pianoforte truly has no rival,” is what Sylvain finally says when he decides to break the weighty silence between them, and Felix cannot help the scoff he lets out even as he keeps his eyes firmly averted, because the words are not what he wants to hear, and if all Sylvain can manage are empty, mindless praises then he can leave.

“Not everyone had the honor of having my mother for a tutor,” he bites out, tone inviting no further replies.

He hears Sylvain shift and sigh, before he says, in a voice so heavily steeped in defeat, “No, I suppose not,” that Felix’s resolve to not look upon Sylvain’s truly pathetic visage until he apologizes breaks just as his fingers still upon the keys.

“What do you want?”

“To apologize and ask for your forgiveness, should you be willing to part with it,” Sylvain answers simply, earnest in a way that does not feel contrived, and Felix feels himself softening even as he keeps his frown in place. “I did not think I was welcome here anymore after what I’d done, and so I strived to keep myself scarce and hope that distance will soothe your temper,” Sylvain says, contrite in his apology, but his confession only gives Felix pause because he does not know what misdeed Sylvain had committed against him that he thought Felix would never want to see him.

Even with his contrary nature and tendency to keep long, bitter grudges, Felix cannot, for the life of him, think of anything that would cause him to want Sylvain to never show his face again. The concept is simply unthinkable, especially in a friendship as precious and dear as theirs. “What are you talking about?” Felix finally asks when his memory fails to shed any light upon whatever mysterious misdeed Sylvain thinks he’d done.

“That night,” Sylvain says with a blush that throws his freckles in stark relief—dark constellations laid out across sun-kissed cheeks. “Back in Wyvern Moon when I—”

_ Kissed me,  _ Felix fills in the unspoken words dumbly as he recalls the phantom sensation of Sylvain’s lips on his, tasting faintly of the Port he’d imbibed. “You were drunk!” He blusters, an answering blush erupting on his cheeks as the memory emerges from the chest he’d locked it in, along with a surge of need and want he’d long thought he’d ridden himself of. “You thought I’d hold against you an offense you made when you were not yourself?” The words burn sharply on his tongue, and even through the sting he feels, Felix holds Sylvain’s gaze as he hisses out, “Sylvain, I’ve forgiven you for injuries that are far worse than a drunken mistake!” 

For that’s all the kiss will ever be, a silly, drunken mistake, because Sylvain does not want him in the way Felix wishes he did, and he never will. Felix is not so unreasonable as to hold  _ that _ against Sylvain.

An expression Felix cannot begin to parse flits across Sylvain’s mien for half a breath, before it’s replaced with something that savors strongly of resignation. However, he has not the time to examine it any further because Sylvain is crowding in close, sitting down next to him on the bench, and murmuring, “Please forgive me.”

A vindictive part of him wants to draw it out, extract a longer apology mayhaps, but Felix has been bereft of Sylvain’s company for two years and he refuses to be denied any longer. Still, he has his pride and thus makes a point of letting out long suffering sigh before saying, “I shall think about it,” in imperious tones even as he allows himself to be pulled against Sylvain’s side, warmth bleeding into him for what feels like the first time in a small eternity.

“I missed you,” Sylvain says with a gravity that weighs heavily upon his chest, the sheer honesty stealing the breath from Felix’s lungs, leaving him dazed and breathless, untethered even as he remains seated upon the bench.

“I suppose I missed you making a nuisance of yourself and annoying Gertie and Willard,” Felix manages to say once the earth feels solid beneath his feet, and is quickly rewarded with a roll of Sylvain’s eyes. “Don’t do it again,” he adds, looking up at Sylvain through the dark fan of his lashes; he doesn’t think his heart can take it should anything like this happen for a second time. Goddess knows once had nearly driven Felix to the very edge.

“I shall be here for as long as you’ll have me.”

_ Then you shall be here forever _ , Felix thinks but does not say, fingers once again finding purchase upon the keys as he starts to play an old Faerghus lullaby, familiar and dear to them both. Sylvain sings along, shaping each word carefully and hitting each note in tandem with Felix’s fingers, his honeyed voice filling Felix with a longing he endeavors to stamp out.

It would not do to hold Sylvain to another promise he will not be keeping after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *taps the mutual pining tag*


End file.
